Chapter 1

Jerome had gone out of his way to throw a banquet at the summit of the snow mountain, forcing me to crawl a hundred kilometers up the slope to atone and beg for forgiveness.

All because, three years ago, an avalanche had occurred, and Jerome was convinced I'd been the one to cut the lifeline—the reason his first love, Zenobia, lost the use of both her legs.

"Just one more kilometer to go. Strip off your parka and lay it under Zenobia's feet, then kneel down and lick the slush off her shoes clean. Do that, and I'll forgive you."

A roar of laughter rose from the surrounding heirs and heiresses at Jerome's words. Bank cards came flying out as bets were placed.

"I'll put ten million on it—she'd strip down to her underwear for a single word of forgiveness from Jerome!"

Jerome looked down at me, his voice cold as ice.

"You hear that? Just take it off, and out of consideration that this is your ninety-ninth time begging me, I'll show you mercy and grant you a proper place at my side."

Everyone assumed I'd grovel and obey, just like all the times before.

Instead, I rose unsteadily to my feet and hurled the bracelet Jerome had once given me off the cliff.

"Jerome, I'm not asking for your forgiveness anymore."

Because last night, my little brother—the one who'd sold his blood and contracted an infection just to scrape together the compensation money—had died.

I had nothing left to live for.

…

"Oh? New angle this time? Throwing things now?"

Laughter erupted again.

"Jerome, I'll raise five million. I bet she's on her knees within ten minutes, begging you to fetch that bracelet back. After all, you gave it to her with your own hands. She's bound to regret it."

"I'll raise five million too. I bet she still ends up kneeling. This is her ninety-ninth time begging, after all."

The bets came flying, one after another.

I stood at the edge of the cliff, both knees crusted over with scabs of dried blood.

For three years, in the name of so-called "atonement," whenever Jerome and Zenobia wanted a show, I had to throw away every shred of pride and dignity, anywhere, anytime, and crawl on the ground.

By now, I had crawled a total of nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine kilometers.

Dignity had long since become a luxury. I'd nearly forgotten what it felt like to walk like a normal person.

Zenobia sat in her wheelchair, tucking the cashmere blanket tighter over her knees, and spoke to me gently.

"Leona, don't push yourself. The wind's so strong—if you actually freeze to death up here, what a damper that'd put on Jerome's mood."

She paused, then leaned closer and lowered her voice. "After all, you haven't finished paying for your sins yet."

The bitter wind hurled snow against my face.

The blood-soaked legs of my pants had long since frozen stiff.

Jerome stared at me. "Leona, after you climb the last kilometer, it'll be over."

"I'll take you home and give you a proper title."

I pulled my hand back into my sleeve. "No need."

The red string my brother had braided around my wrist had snapped, leaving only a tiny stub of red thread.

Jerome tucked the blanket closer around Zenobia.

"Zenobia, are you cold? Maybe we should head back to the tent first?"

Zenobia caught his cuff. "I'm not cold—I'm just worried about Leona."

"Her brother's still waiting for her down at the foot of the mountain. Don't be too hard on her."

My fist clenched tight inside my pocket.

"He died last night."

The laughter cut off for a beat. Then someone snickered.

"Here we go again."

"Last time it was her foster mother dying. Time before that, the orphanage running out of food."

"Now she's gone and made up her brother's death too."

"Jerome, her acting really is getting better and better."

Jerome frowned. "Don't joke about family. That's not like you."

I pulled a crumpled piece of paper from my inside pocket and held it out.

One corner of the death certificate had been softened by melted snow.

Jerome glanced at it once, then flicked it back into my arms with a sneer.

"Leona, you're really getting good at lying."

"Wasn't it just yesterday that Zenobia's legs were hurting again? I held off on transferring you that money on purpose, just to make her feel a little better. One day. You expect me to believe he died in one day?"

I looked at him, my throat clogged like it was stuffed with bloody cotton.

Yes. Just one day.

But in that one day, my brother Duncan had bled from every part of him, curled up on his hospital bed in agony, too weak even to cry out.

To scrape together the medical bills, I'd knelt sobbing all over that hospital.

I'd thrown away every last shred of pride.

But Duncan had seen me.

That little brother who'd treated me like the whole world ever since we were children, who could never bear to see me bow my head—he couldn't stand watching his sister beg on her knees.

While the nurse was changing his dressings, he dragged his bleeding body to the rooftop of the hospital and threw himself off.

And now, Jerome was looking at me as if granting me alms.

"Enough. Your punishment ends here."

"Once we're off this mountain, I'll arrange treatment for your brother abroad."

Suddenly, I laughed.

"No need. There's no point anymore."

Jerome's face darkened.

"Leona, stop this nonsense."

"It's freezing up here, and Zenobia didn't bring enough layers. Take that parka off and put it under her feet."

I lowered my eyes to the parka I was wearing.

It was the birthday present Duncan had saved for three months to buy me.

He'd told me the wind on the mountains was harsh, and as long as his sister had this on, she wouldn't be cold.

But now, he was gone.

This jacket couldn't protect me. It hadn't protected him.

Better to trade it for an ending than to let it lie filthy beside me here.

I crouched down and unzipped the parka.

The crowd erupted again. "Here it comes! Here it comes! I want in on the bet!"

Cold air rushed in against my skin.

I walked up to the wheelchair, folded the jacket neatly, and laid it down at Zenobia's feet.

"My brother bought this. Don't get it dirty."

Few people knew that when Zenobia first arrived in the New York scene, I had been the one to bring her into Jerome's circle.

When people sneered at her background, I was the one who'd stood in front of her, time and time again.

Later, she became everyone's precious darling, cradled in their hands.

And I became the sinner she named—the one who'd crippled her.

Zenobia's fingers curled beneath the blanket.

Jerome's gaze was cold and fixed on me.

I took a step back, and a small slip of paper fell from the pocket of the parka.

It landed on the snow and flipped over, revealing the writing inside.

【Leona, the wind on the mountain bites. Bundle up. Stop saying you're not cold. —Duncan】

I bent down to pick it up.

But Zenobia suddenly jerked her feet back, as if I'd startled her.

Jerome instinctively threw himself between us, seizing my wrist in his grip.

"Leona, what do you think you're doing?"

"You've already hurt Zenobia once. Now you're going to do it again, right in front of me?"

I looked down at where his fingers were biting into my wrist.

"Let go. What I'm picking up is the last thing Duncan left me."

Jerome paused, then unconsciously released his grip.

I plucked the slip of paper out of the slush.

A flurry of hurried footsteps came from the entrance.

The mountain caretaker was running toward us, an old, battered cloth bundle slung over his shoulder.

"Excuse me—who's Leona?"

"The funeral home down at the base asked me to deliver this. Said it's the deceased's belongings."

Every gaze in the crowd snapped to that worn-out bundle.

I reached out to take it.

The instant my fingertips brushed the wrapping, a length of coarse rope poked out through the opening.